


A Most Unexpected Object

by Astardanced77



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: M/M, post—hogwarts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-26
Updated: 2014-10-26
Packaged: 2018-02-18 12:40:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,868
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2348744
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Astardanced77/pseuds/Astardanced77
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In all his years at the Ministry, Draco has never seen anything like it. Typical that it should turn up in Potter's bin.</p><p><b>Career Choices:</b> Harry: representative to the International Confederation of Wizards; Draco: Deputy head, Magical Maintenance</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Most Unexpected Object

**Author's Note:**

  * For [momatu](https://archiveofourown.org/users/momatu/gifts).



> For [Prompt # 26](https://docs.google.com/document/d/1NnIZtnyWEqbQHgi3U6N1CwbznCTkDeZGWJqgEw6KRrQ/).
> 
> The very biggest of thanks to Phoenixacid for being the most patient and supportive of mods and putting up with both my tardiness and my technological incompetence. Thanks to S for listening, reading and advising.
> 
> Dear momatu,  
> I loved your prompt the moment I saw it and I had a ball writing this story. I meddled with Draco's job description a bit but otherwise I hope you like it!

On Level 8 of the Ministry of Magic, hidden behind the glittering magnificence of the Atrium, was a set of offices that few Ministry employees would ever see. Its occupants were perfectly happy with this state of affairs. Anonymity was their preference. It gave them so much more license to _innovate_.

On this particular day, the large meeting area was unusually quiet. Around it, people poured over scraps of parchment, their lips moving silently as they practised spells already memorised. Others stood with eyes closed, gathering energy for their momentous undertaking. Nothing of the sort had ever been tried in the Ministry’s 400-year history. If it worked, it could change these people’s lives forever.

Draco stood and stared at the blank wall in front of him. Beside him, Dianthe, his assistant, co-conspirator and all round fixer extraordinaire, was actually vibrating with excitement. Draco wished he could share it. Months of hard work had gone into this moment and all he could muster was a desperate hope not to screw it all up.

Dianthe nudged him in a gesture she clearly thought was subtle. It was time. Draco crossed his fingers, hidden in the depths of his pockets, then hoisted an appropriate expression on his face and turned to face his staff. It was probably the right time for an inspirational speech, Draco thought.

“All right,” he said. “Let’s get this show on the road.”

As inspirational speeches went, Draco considered it was lacking somewhat. However, it served its purpose. Heads around the room popped up as the occupants turned to face him. Draco drew in a breath at the hope and trust in their expressions and forced himself not to react. It would do them no good for him to get emotional.

“Thomas, Clarence, Jessica, Patrick and Lillian. You’re up. Everyone else, give them some room,” he added as five people moved forward, each focused on their assigned patch of wall.

Draco checked his watch. “Twenty-one hundred,” he said. “Everyone ready?” They all nodded. “Great. On my signal, then. Go.”

Draco stepped further back to watch his staff at work. For a moment, nothing happened. Draco smothered a spike of panic. Then, slowly at first then speeding up, black lines began appearing on the white walls. The lines thickened and spread until the wall was covered. Lines converged and diverged, shooting off at odd angles then joining up again. One by one, the people in front of the wall dropped their wands and stared at their work.

The last two lines converged at an acute angle and the last wand was lowered. Everyone in the room stared at the no longer blank wall in shocked amazement.

Predictably, it was Dianthe who broke the silence. “Is that what the Ministry looks like? Seriously? There’s like,” she stopped and counted. “Twenty right angles in the entire building!”

“What’s a right angle?” asked Clarence.

 _“What’s a right angle?_ ” Dianthe repeated incredulously. She looked around, noting other confused faces. “Did none of you people go to primary school?”

“No,” chorused half the room.

“Jesus,” she muttered. “How do keep your buildings from collapsing?”

“Magic,” said Draco decisively. “Which is what we are here to do. Good work, you lot,” he said to the map builders, who looked pleased at his words.

“Okay,” he said to the rest of the room. “They’ve given us our framework. Time for phase two. Get ready.”

Draco took his position in front of Level 5. Beside him, Dianthe gripped her wand and concentrated on Level 3 as if her life depended on it. Draco gripped his own wand harder and raised it. “And...go,” he said.

Draco started at the top left corner of level 5, muttering the spell over and over as he tapped his wand on each office in turn. A small twinkling spot appeared in each office where his wand tapped. He set the spell for the last office and stood back wearily to make way for Viola to do level 6. He found a handy patch of wall to prop himself up with surreptitiously while he waited for the second wave of spell-casting to finish.

“Alright, boss?” Dianthe appeared beside him, brow wrinkled in concern.

Draco stood himself upright. Not as surreptitious as he had hoped then. “Fine, thank you, Dianthe.”

“Are you sure? That was pretty draining.” She peered at him in concern. “You know, for a man of your advanced years,” she added, planting herself on top of a nearby desk and swinging her legs off the side, looking altogether too young and perky and not at all like she had just completed two levels entirely by herself.

“My advanced years?” exclaimed Draco in mostly mock disbelief. “Dianthe, you wretch! I’m 30 not 300!”

She grinned at him, clearly pleased to have gotten a reaction.

“Thirty -two in a few months actually, if my calculations are correct,” added Patrick.

“Thank you, Patrick,” said Draco drily. “I don’t know where I’d be without you.”

Patrick grinned at Dianthe, who high-fived her partner-in-crime.

“No respect,” muttered Draco.

Across the room, Thomas cleared his throat. “All done here, boss,” he said when Draco looked over. On the wall behind him the map was now covered in tiny spots, making it look as if it had been attacked by a small child with a glitter bomb.  

“It’s pretty impressive, sir,” said Clarence, the section’s newest member.

“It is,” Draco agreed, mentally noting that he’d need to talk to Clarence about the ‘sir’ thing. Again. “Impressive effort everyone. Even if this doesn’t work, we now have a functioning map of the Ministry, which we’ve never had before. And if nothing else, we now know how to freak Dianthe out.”

There were chuckles from around the room. Smiling, Dianthe threw a hand up, acknowledging the retaliation for her age-related slurs.

“But will it work?” asked Lillian.

“There’s only one way to find out,” said Draco. “We’ll test level 5. None of that lot will be at work at nine o’clock on a Saturday night.”

He raised his wand. Around the room he could see fingers being crossed, lucky amulets being clenched and even one head bowed in prayer, hands held close to the breast in supplication. Draco wished he could join in but instead held his head high, took a deep breath and cast the activation spell.

One by one, the twinkling lights dimmed. A frisson of excitement ran through the room.

“By Merlin,” breathed Patrick. “It’s working!”

As more lights dimmed, the room erupted into cheers.

“No more three-day old lunches spilling on my shoes,” enthused Jessica.

“No more miscellaneous potions experiments that explode as soon as you move the bin!” cheered Walter.

“No more smelling like a cesspool for the rest of the shift,” said Lillian, who had had some unfortunate experiences.

“No more finding disgusting magazines stuffed down the back of the men’s lockers,” said Thomas.

Draco bit back a snicker. Poor Thomas seemed to have an absolute gift for finding the inappropriate-for-work reading material occasionally left in the men’s changing rooms.

“Time for champagne,” announced tiny Viola, madly waving a bottle she must have secreted somewhere in the room. There were more cheers as Jessica produced glasses for everyone.

Draco looked at the map, flinching back as a champagne cork whizzed past his left eyebrow. Behind him, his staff were making increasingly more outrageous toasts as they downed their champagne. Just a few more lights to go to finish level 5 then they could move on to the other levels.

Draco allowed himself to take a deep breath of relief. This had been a mammoth operation— he had yet to come entirely clean to Kingsley about the overtime budget for the month—but the pay-off was immense. It would free up hours of staff time and energy that could be far better spent improving the working environment of the Ministry for the betterment of all employees. His staff were young (mostly), energetic (except on Mondays when they were practically comatose until 10:30) and incredibly capable. Frankly, it was a waste of their potential to be emptying bins and sweeping floors. Draco couldn’t wait to get started on some of the projects he had - hang on.

His brain finally caught up to what his eyes had been trying to tell him. On the map, a handful of lights were still blinking and hadn’t changed in the last few minutes.

“Bugger,” he said. The still blinking lights meant the spell had been stalled without finishing. It might mean the spell had been broken, or it could be that something had triggered the safe-guards he has written into the spell, he thought more optimistically. This was the disadvantage of a sequential spell, he realised as he stared at the lights. One error stopped the entire process.

Draco moved stealthily towards the door. If he could go and figure out the problem, he might be able to restart the process while everyone was still celebrating. They had all worked so hard on this project. He should let them have at least a small celebration. 

Draco edged out of the room towards his office, where he snagged his official robes. There was probably no-one up there, he thought as he threw them over his head, but best look professional, just in case. He smoothed the dark blue fabric down his front, checked that they adequately hid his comfortable jeans and t-shirt ensemble, ran a hand through his hair and took the back hallway, smiling at the sound of singing now floating down the corridor behind him. 

#####

 

Draco slipped out of the hidden door to the right of the long bank of Floo fireplaces. The Atrium was an eerie place late at night. Torches burned low in the sconces along the wall, casting long shadows across the floor. Above him, the giant symbols looked almost bronze against the muted blue of the ceiling as they moved slowly through their arcs. Draco forced himself not to scurry across the empty floor towards the lift, but he could not deny that his stride was a trifle faster than usual. At least he didn’t have to queue for the lift, he thought, as he entered the nearest one. He grabbed a rope and pressed the button.

“Level 5. Department of International Co-operation, incorporating the International Magical Trading Standards Body, the International Magical Office of Law, and the International Confederation of Wizards, British Seats.”

The voice issued from above him. Draco reflected, not for the first time, that it might be time to update the lift announcements, which hadn’t been changed in living memory. Which, considering the age of some of the Ministry staff Draco had seen, was quite some time.

He walked out of the lift and took his bearings. The office he needed was to the right, then left, then around a dogleg and on the left again. As he made his way through the warren of offices, Draco felt a twinge of sympathy for Dianthe and the other Muggle-borns. He had seen pictures of Muggle houses, with their square corners and perpendicular walls. The magical world must come as a bit of a shock, he pondered. And nearly walked past the office he needed.

A small gold plaque just below his eye-line proclaimed _Office of the International Confederation of Wizards, Junior Representative for Britain._ Draco knocked politely on the door but was not surprised when there was no response. It was, after all, nine, he glanced at his watch, forty-five on a Saturday night. The office’s inhabitant was presumably out having an actual life or possibly in enjoying a glass of wine. Certainly not at work about to scrutinize the contents of a stranger’s rubbish bin.

He lifted his wand and cast the necessary spell. The door swung open slightly. Draco pushed it open fully and walked in. The office was neat without being pristine. Piles of parchments were stacked neatly in an pile towards on edge of the desk. Another parchment was unrolled in the centre of the desk and a quill sat ready in a bottle of ink to its side, as if the owner had just recently walked away. There was no personalisation on the walls of the office. The only sign of occupancy was the set of robes draped over the back of the spare chair in front of the desk.

Draco moved around the edge of the desk, searching for the bin. Finding it stashed in the far recesses of the desk cavity, he bit back a groan, kneeled down and thrust a seeking hand into the space, blindly groping for an edge. His hand brushed the edge of the bin. He got as good a grip as the awkward angle would allow and pulled. The force of the bin coming loose landed him on his arse and he swore softly.

Fortunately, the bin’s contents stayed inside. Draco picked himself up off the floor and placed the bin on a clear section of the desk, facing away from the door.

“So, what’s happened here?” he muttered to himself as he pulled out his wand and prepared to cast.

His examination was interrupted by an indignant voice from the door. “Oi! What do you think you are doing?”

Draco shook his head and turned. That sounded to all the world like...

“Potter,” he said, facing the figure in the doorway. Of course it was. If anyone’s bin was going to prove troublesome, it figured it would be Potter’s.

“Malfoy?” asked Potter in surprise. “What are you doing with my bin?”

“The automated vanishing spell malfunctioned,” Draco explained with as much _sang froid_ as he could muster, given he’d just been caught examining a rubbish receptacle. “I was checking to see if there was a problem.”

“Oh,” said Harry. He ran his eyes of the Magical Maintenance blue of Draco’s robes as he took a cautious step into the room. His demeanour reminded Draco of nothing as much as a young child trying to pat a skittish crup.  Draco smothered an inappropriate smile as Harry asked, “Is there?”

“I don’t know,” answered Draco honestly. “I hadn’t finished examining it.” Suddenly aware that he was trespassing in Potter’s office, he added “I did knock. I assumed that the office was empty.”

Potter snorted. “You assumed that I would have better things to do with my Saturday night, you mean. Despite what you might read in the papers, I’m afraid my life is really quite boring.” He took another, more confident step into the room and gestured at the bin. “You can go ahead if you like. I’m just reading. I won’t get in your way.” He continued around the desk and sat in the chair.

Having no sensible reply, Draco opted to take him at his word and continued casting, this time non-verbally. He ran through the standard diagnostic spells which all came back as normal. There was no evidence of tampering or damage to the bin. Draco sighed quietly. The next step was checking the contents. He was just wondering if he could convince Potter to let him take the bin away, when the man spoke again.

“I didn’t know the bins were self-emptying,” Potter said.

Draco looked up in surprise at the conversational tone. “They weren’t,” he admitted. “We are trialling a new spell tonight. We’re testing on Level 5 because assumed no-one would be here.”

“That’s me,” said Potter with a lopsided smile. “Defying expectations since 1981. And since I can still see rubbish, I assume mine didn’t work. Do you know what’s wrong with it?”

“Not yet,” Draco admitted. “The spells are all functional. I’m guessing that something in your bin triggered the exceptions to the spell so it didn’t empty.” He felt around in his pocket for the Muggle disposable gloves Dianthe regularly stashed in his robe pockets when he wasn’t looking.

“What are the exceptions?” asked Potter. “Maybe I can save you some trouble.”

“Any large bundle of scrolls or metal objects about the size of a Galleon,” said Draco, pulling on the gloves. “Things that might have accidentally fallen into a bin that would be problematic if they vanished overnight. There don’t seem to be any scrolls in there. Have you put anything metal in the bin?”

“Not that I can think of,” said Potter, wrinkling his brow.

Draco held his wand and his free hand over the bin and muttered a useful spell he had discovered in his predecessor’s log book. A  small, roundish thing shot out of the bin into Draco’s waiting hand. His fingers closed over it automatically as he drew it closer to examine.

It was a small metal object with a bulbous end on a thinner shaft. The other end was decorated with a garish fake red stone. As Draco turned it over in his fingers, a faint resemblance teased at the edge of his memory. He had seen something like this before somewhere. Something he was reading, there was a picture and there was laughing and ...oh!

Potter had come up beside him and was peering at the object. “Oh, that thing,” he said. “I found it on my desk when I came in today. I thought it was a hook actually but I couldn’t get it to stay up. You must have some sort of spell on the walls to stop people making holes, I guess. Malfoy?”

Draco dragged his eyes away from the innocuous object sitting in the palm of his hand, shining slightly in the light. “Pardon?” he asked.

“I said I thought it was a hook. I pounded as hard as I could but it just wouldn’t go in.”

Draco choked.

“Malfoy? You ok?”

Draco pulled himself together and cleared his throat. “Fine,” he said, happy that his voice didn’t break. “Sorry, just thinking for a moment. I’ll just take this away with me, shall I? The charm on your bin should work now. If you have any more problems, just send me a memo and I’ll come and have a look. I’ll, ah, send someone up with a hook for your robes if you like. Right, then. Thanks very much for your help, Potter. Have a good evening.”

Draco turned and beat a hurried retreat, ignoring the look of confusion that crossed Potter’s face. He hastened down the corridor, waited impatiently for the lift and then made his way swiftly to the hidden door. He needed to check something in his office.

Ignoring the sounds of greatly inebriated cheer now coming from the meeting room, Draco made his way to his cluttered office and to the filing cabinet in the back corner of the room. Allegedly, the cabinet was for transfer paperwork. In actuality, it mostly held something else entirely. Dubbed ‘the Cabinet of Odd Things’ by Dianthe shortly after her arrival in the department, it was the storage place for some of the more unusual items the Magical Maintenance staff found in their travels around the building.

Draco opened the top drawer of the cabinet. If he judged the filing system correctly it should be under... ah, yes, D for disturbing. Draco carefully drew the booklet out of its file and shut the drawer. He sat down at his desk, flipping through the pages, searching for the image in his memory. He remembered well the day Thomas had found the booklet in the Level 3 change rooms. Draco had not thought a human face could be quite that colour.

Draco slowed his flipping. From memory it was right about here. A few more pages and—

Draco laughed so hard he fell off his chair.  

#####

 

By Monday afternoon, Draco had mostly stopped laughing, though the urge to chuckle was striking at odd moments. Late on Monday morning, after most of his staff had straggled in, some still suffering the after effects on Saturday night’s epic celebration, Draco had informed them of the hiccup with Potter’s bin (though not, of course, the cause). Dianthe had taken the news as a personal affront and had retired to a small meeting room with Jessica and Patrick, muttering about electrical circuits and Christmas lights.

Draco had quietly gathered up their duty assignments for the day and left them to it. As he made his way around the Ministry, fixing taps and mending malfunctioning windows, Draco realised he was quite enjoying himself. Since being promoted to deputy head of Magical Maintenance, he had moved into a more managerial role. While he had enjoyed the chance to institute some of his pet projects (though not the paperwork they had engendered), he hadn’t realised how much he missed getting his hands dirty, metaphorically speaking, he thought as he pulled on another pair of disposable gloves to deal with a clogged drain pipe. Maintenance of a building that existed ten stories below the ground and was held together with magic was technically challenging, to say the least, and Draco loved a challenge.

He saved one assignment until last but it was still relatively early when he reached the end of his list. He gave himself a determined talking to and, when he was sure he could look at Potter’s office again without laughing inappropriately, he made his way to Level 5 and knocked firmly on the closed door.

“Come in,” called a firm and faintly grumpy voice.

Draco pushed the door open. Potter looked up at him from behind a large scroll that overflowed both sides of his desk. Next to the parchment was a pad of the Muggle paper Dianthe liked and a ballpoint pen. The paper was covered in scribbled notes and question marks. Potter’s hair was even more dishevelled than usual, as if he had been clutching at it with his fingers, and he blinked at Draco owlishly, as though he was having trouble focusing his eyes.

Draco fished the hook out of his pocket and held it up for Potter to see. “I came to install the hook you asked for,” he said. 

“Oh, thanks,” said Potter, sounding relieved. He pushed his chair back from his desk and ran a hand through his hair. “Do you need me to do anything or just get out of the way?”

“Tell me where you want it?” suggested Draco.

Potter waved vaguely. “Anywhere is fine. There’s plenty of wall.”

Draco looked around the room. It was true enough—all four walls were completely blank, not even a fake window. Draco wondered why Potter didn’t go stir crazy surrounded by all the white but decided not to say so.

“I’ll put it behind the door,” he said, settling on the least obtrusive spot. “We have some artwork or posters in storage if you’d like something on the wall,” he offered.

“There’s probably no point,” Potter said. “I mainly use this office while the ICW is in recess. Might as well save the artwork for someone who’s stuck in their office every day. The blank walls don’t really bother me.”

“Fair enough,” said Draco, turning to face the wall behind the door. He located a good spot beside the door and cast the preparation spells on the wall. Behind him, he could here the faint scrape of the chair has Potter stood up.

“I’m going to grab a drink,” said Potter. “Would you like one?”

“No, thank you,” said Draco, distractedly. This piece of wall was oddly obstreperous. He moved his focus three inches to the left and found the same problem. Tests of other random points of the wall revealed the same problem. Draco gave up on diagnosing the problem and returned to his original point. If the wall was going to be difficult, then he’d just have to force it to...there. Working quickly, Draco pushed the hook fastener into the artificially softened wall before it could harden again. Then he reapplied the stability and protection spells. He was retesting the structural integrity of the wall when Potter walked back in the door with a steaming cup in his hand.

“Coffee?” Draco asked as the distinctive odour filled the room, faintly surprised to see Potter drinking anything except pumpkin juice or water. Draco reminded himself that it had been a long time since school and Potter had undoubtedly found more adult drinks since then.

Potter didn’t seem to find anything odd about the question. “The Swedes got me hooked on it during my first ICW session,” he answered easily. “It makes the long evening sessions easier to deal with. Of course, I’m not sure they would consider this stuff to be actual coffee.” Potter dropped into his chair with a slight thump, impressively not spilling any of his coffee. “I’m hoping that the caffeine might help me decipher this mess. It might as well be a foreign language for all I can make it out.”

Draco glanced over at the parchment and raised his eyebrows. “Ah, Potter,” he said delicately. “It _is_ written in a foreign language. It’s been a while but I think you’ll find that is French.”

Potter snorted. “I know. Translation spell on the glasses,” he added, gesturing to them. “It’s not helping much though. I can’t make heads or tails of what it’s trying to say.” 

Draco frowned. “May I?” he asked, indicating Potter’s glasses.

“Sure,” said Potter, plucking them off his face and handing them over. Draco took them and ran a simple spell-revealing diagnosis over them. His eyebrows were once again raised by the time he was finished.

“No wonder you are having trouble,” he said, handing the glasses back. “This is a simple translation spell. It’s designed to help tourists read labels and menus. This kind of document is far too complex for a spell like this. Translation is more than finding the equivalent words, you know. The language in policy documents implies as much as it explicitly says. You need to find a proper translator, Potter.”

Potter looked at him with a panicked expression. “I don’t have time to find a translator with a Ministry clearance. I need to understand this by Thursday morning. I have a Floo call at nine!”

Draco stared at him. “Surely the ICW office has translators,” he said.

“They are either on leave or busy,” said Potter. “I didn’t think I’d need one so I didn’t ask. We don’t tend to need them much during the recess period. This committee just has an very enthusiastic committee chair, thus the out-of-session meeting.”

Draco didn’t think he’d seen Potter so worried, even when there was a homicidal maniac at large. As the deputy head Auror, the man had exuded confidence from every pore. It was bizarre and, Draco admitted very quietly to himself, oddly charming to see him fretting over agenda papers. With an internal sigh, Draco kissed goodbye to his free evening and prepared to do his good deed for the month.

“I could do it if you like,” he offered.

“You could do what?” Potter asked, confused.

“Translate it. I translated a few French texts when I was younger,” Draco added, choosing not to mention they were of the erotic literature variety. Somehow, the fact that they had been French made them extra alluring to the occupants of his dormitory. Blaise in particular had been quite the fan. “I have a high security clearance since my position allows me access to the Minister’s office.”

“I know,” said Potter. “I did your last security clearance. By the way, you should tell Parkinson if we get another noise complaint, we’re going to have to bring her in. I mean,” he blushed, remembering, “the Aurors will have to bring her in.” He cleared his throat. “If you don’t mind helping me out, that would be brilliant. Are you sure you’ll have enough time? Don’t you have other work to do?” he asked, gesturing in a vaguely binnish direction.

Draco chose to rise above the comment about Pansy, who, if he was being honest, Draco was very happy not to live next to. “No, I’m just about finished,” he assured Potter.

Potter needed no more encouragement. He carefully rolled up the parchment and handed it to Draco. “Anything you can tell me about what this says would be greatly appreciated,” he said. “I don’t want to find I’ve inadvertently committed Britain to supplying turnips to Germany at 7 pounds a knut or something equally ridiculous!”

#####

 

In Draco’s considered opinion, one of the biggest advantages of his job was the late start. On this particular morning, it was even more of an advantage than usual. He had been up until 2am finishing the translation for Potter. Draco now considered he knew far more that any innocent civilian should about protectionism and the French cheese industry. Frankly, on this issue, he thought fuzzily, ignorance truly was bliss.

Draco yawned, stretched, then groped for his wand on his bedside table and flicked the curtains open ever so slightly. A beam of light pierced his eye and he flinched, squinting in the brightness. It was later than he thought then. Best get moving, he thought. There’s no telling what could be happening at work in his absence. He gathered his resolve and hauled himself out of bed and into the shower, shooting a spell in the direction of the kitchen as he went. Today was going to require extra tea.

Forty-five minutes, two and a half cups of tea, several pieces of toast and an illicit biscuit later, Draco was ready to face the likely horrors of the office. He packed his lunch, then more carefully packed Potter’s scroll and the translation into his bag, donned several more layers (as it was February) and Flooed to work and into chaos.

He had intended to detour past Potter’s office to drop of the translation. Instead, he found himself sheltering under the overhang of a Floo fireplace as what appeared to be inter-departmental memos dive-bombed screaming Ministry staff. More enterprising colleagues had erected their own protections, from their briefcases to bubble-head charms as they hurried towards the safety of their offices. Seeing a gap in the flock, Draco made a run for the hidden door to Magical Maintenance and nearly collided with Lillian.

“The inter-departmental memo system is malfunctioning,” she said unnecessarily, as Draco dodged another Kamikaze message.

“So I see,” said Draco, reaching his office and barricading himself and Lillian safely inside. Out his glass panel he could see the rest of the Magical Maintenance staff taking shelter in the conference room. From his vantage point, it appeared that they had captured a memo and were attempting to run some diagnostic spells while it put up a spirited fight.

“When did this start?” he asked Lillian.

“About fifteen minutes ago,” she answered. “I was on my way to Floo message you. We think someone in Security has been experimenting.”

Draco winced. The last time the Security team had one of their bright ideas, they had inadvertently sealed every pipe in the building, including the toilets. Draco’s team had worked 46 hours straight to fix it.

“Let’s hope not,” said Draco. He hung his coat and scarf on the rack, pre-emptively grabbed his Magical Maintenance robes, shrank them and put them in his pocket. “We should go and see what the others have discovered,” he said, readying himself behind the door. “Ready?” he asked.

Lillian nodded. Draco took a deep breath, opened the door, cast the strongest shield spell he could think of and sprinted.

They made it in one piece, despite the best efforts of the circling memos, one of which was now flying drunkenly with what looked like a concussion after ricocheting off Draco’s shield and into the wall. Draco looked at his team.

“What have we got?” he asked.

Dianthe answered. “It looks as if something about the spell that directs the inter-departmental memos to deliver a message has been changed. Instead of recognising the message recipient as a target for message delivery, the memos are now designating the recipient as a target for attack.”

“So all the messages in the hallway are for us?” Draco asked.

Viola nodded. “Probably from people trapped in their offices asking for help or screaming at us to fix it.”

“Good thing Howler’s aren’t allowed in the building,” said Patrick.

“Indeed,” said Draco absently, his mind racing through solutions. “Any ideas what caused this?”

“It’s only a guess, boss, but I think someone has managed to redefine the concept of ‘target’ in all the Ministry spells. So that any spell that involves delivery will now take this meaning. As far as we can tell, there is no change to the charm on the paper or the charm to set message delivery. The memos behave perfectly normally until they spot the recipient and then they...well, attack is the only word I can think of that covers it.”

“Thoughts on how we fix it?” Draco asked the team at large.

“We need to find out who made this change and find out how they did it,” said Patrick. “Otherwise, we might make it worse. In the meantime, we need people to stop sending bloody memos!”

“Any change to the spells probably won’t affect the memo’s already in flight, so we also have to find a way to neutralise those first,” added Viola.

“Right,” said Draco. “Here’s what we’ll do...”

#####

Draco knocked on the door of Potter’s office wearily. They had destroyed the first wave of memos through the simple expedient of setting off the fire sprinklers until the sodden memos collapsed under their own weight. However, that provoked a second wave of outraged memos from people who hadn’t bothered to listen to Draco’s message on the Ministry’s emergency _Sonoros_ system and had failed to adequately protect themselves. Fortunately, most of these memos had been directed to the Magical Maintenance team, who were able to trap them in the hallway and hose them down with a few well placed _Aguamenti’s_. However, it was true that no good deed goes unpunished, and certainly not at the Ministry of Magic, so the team spent the rest of the day mopping up and avoiding incensed witches (and a few wizards) and their ruined coiffures.

“Come in,” a voice called.

Draco pushed the door open. Potter was behind his desk again, looking at him with considerable surprise. “I thought you must have gone home,” he said. “I hear you’ve had quite the day.”

“You hear?” asked Draco, folding gracelessly into the available chair without waiting to be asked. Manners could wait until he had more energy, he decided.

“I was out at meetings with the British Cheese Board–Magical sub-committee and the Dairy Council most of the day. I missed the whole thing.”

“The British Cheese Board?” asked Draco, diverted in spite of himself.

“I know,” agreed Potter. “I can’t work out if it’s a really obvious name or a clever pun. I’ve seen their logo, so I’m leaning towards the pun.”

Draco shook his head, too tired to work it out. He reached into his pocket and pulled out the reason for his visit and placed them on the table in front of Potter. He pointed his wand and fired off the enlarging spell.

“Your translation,” he said, waving a hand in its general direction.

Potter let out an exclamation of surprise. “You’re kidding? How did you get it done so quickly? You must have been up half the night!”

Draco smiled, his energy buoyed by Potter’s enthusiasm, but didn’t reply. Potter didn’t seem to notice; he was pouring over the translation eagerly. Draco wondered if he knew he was making faces and small interrogative noises as he read. He supposed he should get up and leave the man too it. He’d get up in just a moment. Just one minute more...

He came to himself with a start, woken by the crick in his neck. He blinked for a moment before he realised that he was still in Potter’s office. He sat up straighter, subtly checking that the corners of his mouth were dry, and looked around.

Potter was still seated at his desk, quietly reading his translation scroll and taking notes. Draco’s movement caught his attention and he looked up.

“Welcome back,” he said with a smile. “Would you like a cup of tea?” Draco followed his glance and saw a tea tray sitting on the edge of Potter’s desk with two cups and a pot.

“My apologies, Potter. I don’t know how I came to fall asleep like that,” said Draco, moving uncomfortably. “You should have woken me.”

“You looked so peaceful,” said Potter. “It seemed the least I could do after you stayed up half the night translating my scroll for me.”

“Nonetheless, it was very rude of me,” said Draco, stiffly. “Most unprofessional.”

“Malfoy, relax,” said Potter firmly. “You had a short nap. I’m sure we’ve all been there. It’s not as if you touched the Queen or anything.”

“Touched the Queen?” asked Draco, confused.

“Yeah,” said Potter. “Apparently, the Queen shall not be touched. Except by her family, I imagine. It’s a huge breach of protocol. The etiquette office attached to the ICW mission was very firm about that during my induction.”

“Are you likely to be in a situation where you might have the opportunity to touch the queen?” asked Draco, wondering if he might still be dreaming. The conversation had become a tad surreal.

“I wouldn’t have thought so,” said Potter. “But you never know. Best to be prepared.”

“Indeed,” said Draco. Potter smiled a friendly smile at him. Draco got to his feet.

“I should leave you to it,” he said.

“Oh,” said Potter, sounding disappointed. “Of course. You probably have things to do yourself.” He stood up and held a hand out to Draco.

“Thanks for your help, Malfoy,” Potter said, shaking Draco’s hand. “I really appreciate it.” 

“You’re welcome,” said Draco, retrieving his hand. “Good night, Potter.”

“Good night, Malfoy.”

Draco took himself home to bed. It seemed the most sensible course of action. Perhaps everything would be back to normal in the morning.

 

#####

 

It seemed not. The following night, Draco took himself to Potter’s office to apologise again for falling asleep in Potter’s guest chair and instead stayed to argue about the effects of industry subsidies in international markets. Over the following few weeks, he translated more agenda papers and argued with Potter about their contents. Draco started popping into Potter’s office to have a chat about world affairs most evenings, translation or no. Before long he found himself buying Continental newspapers to try and keep up with the latest news.

One such evening, just as Draco finished demolishing Potter’s argument with some well placed German statistics, they were interrupted by a smooth voice.

“Harry, I’ve finished analysing the lamb export figures and I thought you might–”.

The voice was followed by a slight man with sharp features and dark hair. Though he had a trendy hair cut and looked to be sporting the latest in Wizarding fashion, Draco judged him to be a good ten years older than Potter. The man looked taken aback to see Draco reclining comfortably in the visitor’s chair, as though he reserved that right only for himself.

“I beg your pardon,” he said, stiffly. “I didn’t realise you were otherwise engaged.”

Potter smiled. “Never mind. Evan, I have someone I’d like you to meet. Malfoy, this is Evan Cadwaller, the chief of staff to the British office at the ICW. He very kindly leant me his office to work in over the winter recess. Evan, this is Draco Malfoy. He’s been helping me out with some translations.”

Cadwaller bowed minutely in Draco’s direction. “I know your family, of course,” he murmured. Draco flushed at the implication but stayed silent. With a hint of a smirk, Cadwaller turned back to Potter.

“I didn’t realise you were have trouble with the scrolls I gave you, Harry,” he said, his voice barely caressing Potter’s name. “If you’d asked, I would have been happy to help.”

“No need,” said Potter, smiling at Draco. “Malfoy rescued me.”

Cadwaller glanced at Draco. “Do you think that’s entirely wise?” he asked delicately, “Given the, ah, circumstances?”

Draco catapulted himself out of his chair. “I can see you have important business to discuss,” he said crisply, enunciating every syllable precisely. “I would hate to intrude. Cadwaller, Potter.” He nodded to them both and turned on his heel.

“Malfoy, wait!” He heard Potter’s voice behind him, then indistinguishable muttering in Cadwaller’s tone and angry replies from Potter. He sped up down the corridor, not wanting to hear the argument. He could hear footsteps pounding down the corridor towards him then the doors of the lift closed and he was whisked away.

#####

Draco let the excited voices of his staff wash over him as he sat back in his chair, Butterbeer in hand. It was an unusually tame drink for the regular Magical Maintenance Friday afternoon ‘debrief’ but he preferred to keep his wits about him this week. For one thing, he didn’t think he could stand the shame of getting maudlin over a couple of glasses of wine in the middle of the conference room.

“What about Aberdeen?”

“Are you mad?! It’s still the middle of winter up there. We’ll have to put up with days of blizzards.”

He hadn’t seen Potter since the night of the unfortunate interruption. He wasn’t deliberately avoiding the man, he just—. No. Draco admitted in the privacy of his own mind that he really was avoiding Potter. And the now inevitable conversation about their past and trust and how people can change, which would be hideously cringe-inducing and full of awkward silences and frankly Draco could live without that quite happily, thank you very much. He took another swig of his Butterbeer and momentarily wished it was Firewhiskey before remembering why that would be an epically bad idea.

“Buenos Aires?”

“It has to start with A.”

“One of the names starts with A.”

“Doesn’t count.”

Draco stared at twinkling map on the wall, resolutely avoiding Level 5. Really, the whole issue was entirely inconsequential. He and Potter had a few interesting discussions about international trade and politics in Europe. Their loss hadn’t left a gaping hole in his life. Draco had managed thirteen years at the Ministry without the need for conversation with Potter. He would undoubtedly manage many more years to come.

“Atlanta?”

“Where’s that?”

“America somewhere.”

“That’s still the northern hemisphere. Think of somewhere south. It’s been raining for the last four days and I need some sunshine.”

“What’s in the southern hemisphere?”

“Australia?”

“That’s a country, genius, not a city.”

Draco roused himself from his abstraction. It might be best to intervene now, before wands were drawn. “Where’s Clarence? Isn’t it his turn to chose the weather for the week?”

Dianthe looked at him oddly. “You sent him home earlier, boss. He fell and hurt his ankle, remember?”

“Oh,” said Draco blankly.

“Since he isn’t here we thought we would chose next week’s weather for him”, Viola informed Draco. “We’re having some trouble,” she added unnecessarily.

“Do you know anywhere in the southern hemisphere starting with A?” Patrick asked him, a trifle wearily.

Draco cast around in his head. “Adelaide?” he suggested. He was sure he’d read something about a city named Adelaide. It was a queen’s name, so there was bound to be one in the British Commonwealth somewhere.

“It’s forty degrees in Adelaide in February,” came a familiar voice from the doorway.

All heads swivelled around to see Harry Potter lounging in the doorway. There was a moment of shocked silence as they all came to terms with the fact that an outsider was _in their department._

Jessica recovered her poise first. “That might be a bit hot,” she agreed. “Can you think of anywhere else?”

Potter thought for a moment. “Auckland,” he said at last. “Hermione, Ron and I had a holiday there one January. It was beautiful.”

Jessica looked around at her co-conspirators. “Done,” she said as heads nodded around her. “I’ll check the forecast tonight. Thanks, Auror Potter.”

“Ex-auror,” Potter corrected her with a smile. “But Harry is fine.”

She smiled back. In his peripheral vision, Draco could see Lillian fanning herself with exaggerated motions.

“You lot are a hard bunch to find,” said Harry, glancing at Draco. “I asked around but no-one seemed to know where you were.”

That prompted a few sniggers. “We like our privacy,” joked Patrick.

“We don’t like just anyone being able to walk in.”

Potter looked a little taken aback at Dianthe’s flat tone while the others exchanged startled glances. Dianthe was usually the most friendly of mortals. Draco silently reviewed his behaviour over the previous days, wondering if he hadn’t been quite so professional as he had thought.

“How did you find us?” Peace-maker Thomas filled the awkward silence.

“I sent you an inter-departmental memo then followed it until I got here,” Potter said, gesturing to the purple paper aeroplane hovering in the corner that Draco had no even noticed.

“Clever,” said Lillian, nodding approvingly.

“Years of being a sneaky Auror,” said Potter, glancing at Draco again.

Draco got to his feet. “I assume you are here to see me, Potter. If you could just wait a moment, I’ll be right with you.” He turned to his staff. “Who is on call this weekend?” Lillian and Peter raised their hands. “Don’t forget to make sure your contact details are in the Owlery. The rest of you are free to go. Have a good weekend.”

Potter moved into the room as the rest of the staff gathered up their belongings and trouped out of the room with a chorus of ‘good-byes’ and ‘have a good weekends’. They stood listening to the group move towards the secret door and one-by-one slip out.

“What was that all about?” asked Potter.

“Choosing the weather for the magical windows for next week,” answered Draco, attempting to be casual. “We usually take it in turns but Clarence went home sick today. The others were trying to help him out.”

“And you do it in alphabetical order?” asked Potter, curiously.

“Makes it more of a challenge,” said Draco. “Though you’d be surprised how many place names start with z.”

“You didn’t come for a chat last night,” Potter said lightly as the background noise settled into silence.

“I was busy,” said Draco, choosing to watch the inter-departmental memo still fluttering in the corner of the room.

“That’s a shame,” said Potter. “Because I was looking into some of your statistics and I call bullshit.”

Startled by the unexpected response, Draco looked up at Potter. Potter was smiling at him in a quite disturbing way. Suddenly, Draco didn’t want to hear the apology he thought was about to be offered.

“You don’t owe me an apology, Potter.”

“Perhaps,” said Potter. “But Evan does. He was being an enormous tosser and I told him so after you left. I was going to tell him before you left but you moved a bit fast.”

Draco chose to let the comment pass. “So you came all the way down here to tell me my statistics are bullshit?”

Potter scoffed. “It was three floors, Malfoy, it’s not like I scaled mountains to get here. But no, I did have an ulterior motive, now that you mention it. I was wondering if— Is that a map of the Ministry?”

Draco glanced behind him. “It is. We’ve had it for a few weeks. Since the night I came to fix your bin actually. It’s good, isn’t it?”

“It’s brilliant,” said Potter, enthusiastically. “It’s like a giant Marauders’ Map. Is that really what the Ministry looks like? How on earth does it stay upright?”

“Magic,” said Draco briefly, reflecting that Potter and Dianthe had quite a lot in common. “What’s a ‘Marauder’s Map’?”

“Hmm?” asked Potter, who was now examining the map at close range and poking the twinkling dots with his wand. “Oh, when we were at school I had a magical map of Hogwarts that showed me all the different parts of the castle. I’ve still got it—it’s in my house somewhere.”

“You mean, I spent four months researching obscure map spells and you had one sitting in the bottom of your old school trunk?”

“Yeah, that probably is where I left it actually,” said Potter, reflectively. “I’ll hunt it out for you to have a look at if you like. My map was a bit different. It showed all the people in the castle as well as the castle walls. If I wanted to, it would show me a specific person. Came in handy more than a few times.”

“Well, that explains a lot,” Draco said. “I wondered how you always came to be in the wrong place at the wrong time.”

Potter just grinned at him. “What are the lights for?” he asked.

“That’s how we tell if the vanishing spell on the bins is working,” said Draco. He glanced at his watch. Six fifteen. That lot in Games and Sports would all be in the pub by now. He lifted his wand and pressed on the left uppermost dot on the Level 7 map. “Watch,” he said, and cast the spell.

Across the map the twinkling lights started disappearing until three lone lights were left shining.

“Very impressive,” said Potter. He touched one of the three shining lights gently with his wand. “And these ones?”

“They are bins where the spell has failed for some reason. On our first test, one failure stopped all the other bins from emptying but Dianthe has fixed that. She called it a,” Draco search his memory for the appropriate term, “parallel circuit not a series circuit. And a distributed network something or other. I don’t remember. But it involved Christmas tree lights.”

Potter looked at him in puzzlement for a moment, then started to laugh. “Her family must have bought the same cheap lights my uncle did. When one light bulb burned out, none of the rest of the bulbs worked because the circuit was broken. One year they gave up on Christmas lights entirely because Dudley kept ramming his remote control truck into the tree and breaking the filaments. The only way to tell which bulb is dead is to replace each tiny little bulb individually one at a time. I thought Uncle Vernon might actually explode after the third time Dudley did it.” He looked at Draco’s uncomprehending face. “You didn’t understand any of that, did you?” he said.

“Not really,” admitted Draco.

“Never mind,” said Potter, smiling at him in that disturbing way again. “So, I take it this is how you knew my bin was broken.”

“Indeed.” Draco’s response was a trifle breathless, due to the odd fluttering in his chest. He made a mental note to schedule a check-up with his Healer soon.

“Did you ever find out what that thing was?” asked Potter. “You looked like you might know but you left too quickly for me to ask.”

Draco couldn’t help himself; he started to laugh. The more confused Potter’s face grew, the more he was reminded of that night. Finally, he pulled himself together and managed to choke it out.

“It was a butt plug.”

Potter’s face was a study. “A what?” he asked, faintly.

Draco chuckled again. “A butt plug. From the Horny, Hunky Hero’s range at Erica’s Emporium of Erotica, to be precise. The stone is a replica of the ruby on the Sword of Gryffindor, according to the catalogue. Designed for those who need to ‘slay a giant snake’. It’s called the,” here Draco choked on his laughter but managed to force it out, “‘Longing-for-bottom’.”

Potter stared at him in horror as Draco fell off his chair. Again.

#####

 

Potter was still looking vaguely shaken when Draco walked him out the hidden door into the Atrium. Draco was just considering whether he would have to escort the man home when the bustle of the Atrium seemed to draw Potter out of his clearly disturbing thoughts. Draco suppressed another chuckle. He would dearly love to know which of Potter’s friends had pulled off the prank. His money was on a Weasley.

Potter shook himself slightly and turned to face Draco. “I didn’t get a chance to tell you the reason I came to find you,” he said.

Draco was surprised. “I’d forgotten you said you needed to speak to me. Do you need another translation done?” He mentally scrolled through his weekend, wondering if he would have time to translate a parchment and visit the Manor as planned.

Potter shook his head. “No,” he said. “Quite the opposite. I came to ask if you’d let me take you out to dinner.” Draco’s face must have looked as taken aback as he felt, because Potter added hastily, “To let me say thank you for all your help.”

“That’s very kind of you but—” Draco began, but Potter cut him off with a single word.

“Please.”

Draco felt himself weakening in the face of sincere green eyes. In the absence of sensible direction from his brain, his mouth made a unilateral decision. “That sounds lovely. Thanks.”

Potter’s face lit up. “Is tomorrow night ok?”

“Fine,” replied Draco’s mouth.

“Great,” said Potter. “I’ll meet you at the Ship and Shovel for a drink at 6ish then we’ll find dinner from there, if that’s ok.”

Draco nodded, not trusting his mouth to make any further decisions on his behalf. Potter flashed him a wide smile and, for a second, the fluttering was back.

“I guess I’ll see you then,” said Potter. “Good night.”

Draco made his way to the bank of fireplaces. He wasn’t entirely sure what had just happened but he knew one thing. Dinner with Potter was bound to be entertaining.

 

#####

 

They ended up at a small restaurant a couple of blocks from the pub. The ambiance was comfortable rather than elegant and Draco regretfully eliminated the faint, more hopeful than realistic, question mark the dinner invitation had raised regarding Potter’s intentions.

“I asked around,” said Potter, in response to Draco’s questioning. “Aurors always know the best places to eat.”

As it turned out, the Aurors were quite right. The food was delicious, as was the wine Potter chose. They chatted easily through the meal, sharing Ministry gossip and stories of friends. Draco nearly choked on a piece of chicken as Potter acted out Ginny Weasley’s first meeting with fiancé Blaise’s mother. Having met Hermosa Zabini, Draco had no trouble picturing her attempt to charm Bill Weasley under the furious gaze of his part-Veela wife.

“It’s an odd thing watching an ex get ready to marry, is it not?” mused Draco, after he had recovered his breath. “More so for you, I imagine. Everyone thought you and Ginny would marry, have lots of little Potters and live in a converted farmhouse in the country, while you became the youngest head Auror in history and lived happily ever after.”

Potter’s smile was decidedly lopsided. “Not quite the fairytale ending everyone imagined, is it?”

“I don’t think I was the only person who was surprised to see you chuck in the Aurors for a career in European politics,” said Draco, choosing to avoid the obvious question. He was certainly in no position to criticise Potter for his lack of relationship.

Potter’s smile was more natural this time. “Ron thought I was mad. I’d just had enough, you know? I’d been chasing after bad guys since I was seventeen and nothing had really changed. I mean, there are always going to be stupid people doing stupid things for stupid reasons. But the conditions that allowed Voldemort to flourish - none of those have changed. The Ministry has no real oversight. In the war, the Ministry was taken from the inside and _no-one outside the borders of Great Britain even noticed_.”

“Half the people inside the borders didn’t notice,” Draco pointed out. “Not until their own friends and family were affected.”

“And by the time they noticed it was too late to do anything about it,” agreed Potter. “The Wizarding world is too used to secrets. And it nearly destroyed us. One of the things I learned as an Auror is that people behave much better if they think someone is watching. That’s why I joined the ICW and why I’m getting on every committee I can. To promote the idea that the ICW can be a kind of oversight body. I want the Ministry to know that someone is watching. I want other Wizarding governments to know someone is watching. So no-one has to go through what we went through. And so we don’t have to do it again.”

Draco was impressed. “That’s a very laudable aim, Potter. I’m not sure if you’ll manage it, but if anyone can, it’ll be you.”

Potter cocked his head. “Do you think you might call me Harry? We are going to be friends-in-law in just a few weeks. I think Ginny would probably prefer that her guests are on a first name basis with each other.”

Draco laughed. “Friends-in-law?”

Potter shrugged. “It seemed appropriate.”

Draco could see his point. Ginny and Blaise each came with a large posse of friends, in Blaise’s case, larger than his family. Interactions that had involved both groups were best described using words such as stilted and pained. The Zabini-Weasley wedding probably wouldn’t have any bloodshed at it but only because it was terribly bad etiquette to stab one’s dinner companions with a fork. A modicum of friendliness between himself and Potter could only help the whole thing.

Potter was watching him with those sincere green eyes. Draco smiled. “Very well, Harry,” he said.

Potter’s face lit up. He fiddled with his wine glass before looking at Draco with determined nonchalance. “I’ve told you about me. Now it’s your turn.”

“What do you want to know?”

“Anything,” said Potter, err Harry. “Why do you wear a Muggle watch?”

Draco glanced at his wrist involuntarily before chuckling. “The perils of dining with an ex-Auror! It was a gift and I discovered I quite liked it, so I kept wearing it. It’s easier than having to cast a _Tempus_ whenever I want to know the time.”

Harry leaned forward, his curiosity evident. “Who bought you a watch?” he asked.

Draco leaned back in his chair. “My team. Apparently it’s a common gift for Muggles to give to work colleagues on an anniversary.”

“Do you have a lot of Muggle-born staff in your department?”

Draco considered the question. “I don’t know about ‘a lot’. I don’t know how many Muggle-born staff the Ministry has. About half of the people in my team are Muggle-born. It’s a good mix; I find they think differently to us.” Draco hurriedly forestalled Harry’s reaction. “I don’t mean that in a derogatory sense. I just mean that wizards are more likely to look to magic for a solution to problems. Muggle-born wizards think wider.”

He took a sip of his wine. “Our map is a good example. I spent four months researching spells that already exist to find what I needed. Dianthe used her experience of the Muggle world to fix the problem of the spell being sequential. If I had looked for a solution, I would have gone back to the same books; Dianthe’s solution was new. If you look at Wizarding history, almost all of the inventors and innovators have been Muggle-born. I think it’s to do with the way we grow up. Muggle-borns don’t have the same experience of magic being commonplace, so they don’t take it for granted in the same way. They question more.”

“What spell to you use for the forecast?” asked Harry.

“What forecast?”

“The weather,” said Harry. “I’ve been wondering since yesterday and it’s driving me mad.”

Draco laughed. “Of course, you would be the exception to my rule. Are you sure you were raised by Muggles?”

Harry looked confused.

“It’s not a spell,” said Draco, still chuckling. “We look it up on the Internet.”

“The _Internet?_ ” asked Harry incredulously. “Where do _you_ get access to the _Internet_?”

“The public library,” said Draco, choosing not to admit that he usually just asked Jessica to check it on the iPad she kept at home. He _had_ done it at the library before Jessica joined the team.

“You are not at all what I expected, Draco Malfoy,” said Harry, leaning back on his chair.

Draco opened his mouth to reply, but was interrupted by the waiter offering the dessert menu. Draco glanced at Harry who seemed to hesitate.

“I know a nice place nearby,” he said eventually. “We could go and get a coffee and some cake, if you like?”

Draco did like. They rugged up warmly against the February weather, haggled briefly over the bill (which Harry insisted on paying) and stepped out the door. During their dinner, the wind had picked up and now felt as if it was bringing air directly off the Scottish mountain peaks. Halfway up the second block, after a particularly vicious gust of wind, Harry turned to Draco in exasperation.

“This is ridiculous! Shall I just Apparate us?”

Draco eyed his surroundings appraisingly. The streets were mostly empty but there were still plenty of windows overlooking the street. Seeing him looking, Harry gestured towards a tiny alley way in front of him. Consoling himself with the fact that his mother would never know, Draco followed Harry into the cramped space. Instead of offering a forearm for Draco to grasp, Harry wrapped his arm around Draco’s waist. Draco had just enough time to feel the warmth rising from Harry’s touch before they spun in nothingness.

They arrived in another dark alley, this one not quite so deserted. A couple busily making out against the brick wall barely noticed as Harry and Draco materialised into existence, the pop of Apparition masked by the booming bass emanating from a nearby building. Draco followed Harry out onto the street, where he was looking at the very trendy night club in front of them with some confusion.

“It used to be a cafe,” he said plaintively.

Draco smothered a laugh. It was demonstrably no longer a cafe. Young people hung around the entrance, smoking and shivering in clothing entirely inappropriate for the frigid weather. From his position on the footpath, Draco could see bodies packed together on a dance floor under powerful strobe lights.

“How long has it been since you were last here?” he asked.

Harry appeared to be counting in his head. “Three years?” he offered hesitantly.

Draco did laugh at that, then shivered in the icy wind. He looked around. “Where are we?” he asked. Down the street, he could see a park and, on the other side, a set of children’s play equipment that looked vaguely familiar.

“Clapham,” said Harry, still staring accusingly at the night club entrance.

Draco nodded. As he thought, his flat was just across the park and around the corner. The question was, should he invite Harry in for a drink, or could that be sending (sadly) unwelcome signals. A light sprinkling of ice peppered his face with the next gust of wind. In Draco’s mind that settle it. They couldn’t stay here.

“Come on,” he said. “My place is just around the corner. I can’t offer you coffee and cake but I can do tea and biscuits.”

They made their way quickly through the park. Behind him, Draco could hear Harry muttering to himself but chose to push on rather than stop and ask. The smattering of icy drops on the wind was starting to thicken and Draco didn’t want to be outside when the downpour arrived.

They made it to Draco’s flat, shivering but unscathed. Draco unlocked the door and ushered Harry though, shooting a spell at the fireplace as he went. Harry darted gratefully across the room and stood warming his hands in front of the fire.

“Ah, that’s better,” he said, after a few moments. “I was beginning to think my fingers might fall off.”

“Tea?” Draco offered, hovering in the doorway to the kitchen. At Harry’s nod, he gestured towards the sofa. “Have a seat, Harry. I won’t be long.”

He was back a few minutes with a tea tray, having managed to scrounge up some biscuits. Harry was still standing at the fireplace, now peering at Draco’s set of cuff links, which he had left lying on the mantel piece. Something in the way Harry was standing reminded Draco of that first night in Harry’s office and he swallowed a snigger.

“Did you find out who played the prank?” he asked, as he nudged an open book out of the way to fit the tea tray on the coffee table.

“What prank?” asked Harry as he turned around. “I like your cuff links, by the way. I didn’t know they were used in Wizarding fashion.”

“The butt plug,” Draco answered. “And they’re not. I’ve been experimenting with Muggle dress shirts. Blaise was thinking of going with suits for the wedding instead of robes. Anything to stand out from the crowd, apparently. Milk?”

Harry stared at him. “It wasn’t a prank. My office is securely locked at night; old habit from my Auror days. None of my friends could have gotten in.”

Draco frowned, milk jug still in hand. “Of course it was a prank. If it wasn’t your friends, how did it get there?”

“I don’t know. The locking spell wasn’t broken, there was no forced entry. Someone managed to get in and out without a trace. Yes, please.”

Draco blinked at him uncomprehendingly. Harry gestured to the milk jug. “Milk and one sugar please.”

Draco shook his head. “Sorry.” He added milk to the tea and passed the cup and the sugar pot to Harry, then sat back on the sofa. “That doesn’t make sense,” he said. “Ministry offices are secure. Only the owner of an office can unlock it.”

“You did,” Harry pointed out, settling onto the other end of the sofa.

“That’s true,” Draco conceded. “Magical Maintenance staff have override spells for out of hours and emergency situations. I have a hard time believing it was any of my staff though. Was it just the once?”

Harry shifted. “No. There have been chocolates and flowers. At first I didn’t think much of it; I don’t often lock my office during the day. This item was the first that appeared after the office was locked. Since then there have been a few odd things that I can’t account for: a bottle of wine with no note and a new quill after I broke mine.” He smiled half-heartedly. “Maybe whoever this is will take requests. I could do with a new ink pot too.”

Draco had no desire to laugh. Harry was apparently being stalked within the Ministry, right under Draco’s nose, and he had had no idea. He was about to demand permission to launch an investigation when Harry moved slightly closer, effectively diverting Draco’s attention to the hand that was casually inching across the cushions towards him.

“Never mind that for a moment,” said Harry. “I want to ask you something.”  

Draco’s mouth went dry. He sipped at his tea and presented Harry with an expectant face.

“When you said before—. About exes—,” Harry started, a light flush covering his cheekbones. “You implied that you and Blaise—. Damnit! Draco, were you dating Blaise?”

“Well, no,” Draco admitted.

Harry’s face fell.

“Dating is probably too strong a word,” Draco continued. “‘Intermittent shagging’ is more technically accurate. We had an on-again, off-again thing going for a while. What Dianthe informs me the Muggles call ‘friends-with-benefits’. That’s probably a good summation, actually. Not since Ginny, of course,” he hastened to add. “Blaise is completely faithful. Bisexual doesn’t mean promiscuous, you know.”

“I know,” said Harry, with an odd smile on his face.

There was a moment of silence. Draco’s fingers crept out across the cushions towards Harry. He cleared his throat. “So, when you say, ‘you know’, does that mean—”

Harry kissed him.

It was perhaps not the most ideal of first kisses. Draco, taken somewhat by surprise, had his head stuck on an odd angle and Harry’s glasses were digging into one cheek. On the up side, Harry’s lips were soft and persuasive against his and one hand was cupping Draco’s other cheek. All in all, Draco thought he’d take that as a win. Then he stopped thinking all together.

“Does that answer your question?” Harry asked, when they disengaged.

“Yes,” Draco squeaked. He cleared his throat. “And yours?” he asked.

“Almost,” said Harry. “I just need a further small clarification.” He leaned in again.

Sometime afterwards, with the unconsumed tea cooling rapidly on the coffee table, they parted. It was at this point that Draco’s mouth, making a bold bid for freedom while his brain was disengaged, suggested that he had a special room, tailor-made for just this kind of thing. His hands got into the act, starting to undress Harry mid-way down the corridor. Draco’s brain started to reengage as the last of their clothing vanished, questioning if this was really the best of ideas, though, of course, it could see the manifest advantages of the situation. Then Harry’s hands finally found the hardness they were seeking, and Harry’s mouth found a particularly sensitive spot, and thinking took a backseat to touching and tasting and feeling.

#####

 

Draco rolled over, squinting in the early morning light. When he found out what had woken him on his sacred sleep-in day there was going to be hell to pay. His befuddled brain remembered the previous night and he reflexively turned toward the bed beside him. Empty. Draco closed his eyes in disappointment. He hadn’t thought Harry would be the shag-and-run type. It seemed he was mistaken.

Draco was still lying with his eyes closed several minutes later when a faint shuffling noise caught his attention and the bed beside him dipped underneath a person’s weight. He opened his eyes to see Harry smiling softly at him, fully dressed and bearing a cup of tea.

“Good morning,” said Harry, holding out the cup.

“Good morning,” Draco croaked, pulling himself to sit upright and accepting the cup. He cleared his throat, trying to find something to say.

“You seem to be wearing too many clothes,” was what came out. Draco winced and closed his eyes again. This is what came of people requiring him to think before tea.

To his credit, Harry didn’t laugh. “Sadly, that is true,” he said, sitting back. “I’ve been called into office. There’s a problem they need me to deal with.”

“You were called into the office?” asked Draco. “At—” he groped for his watch.

“Nine-thirty,” Harry supplied.

“At the ungodly hour of nine-thirty on a Sunday morning?”

Harry smiled. “One of the disadvantages of being the most junior person in the office, I’m afraid.”

“I didn’t even hear the owl,” Draco muttered, disgruntled, into his tea cup.

Harry did laugh at that. “I’m not surprised,” he teased. “You sleep like the dead. I could have engaged in Morris dancing in here and you wouldn’t have woken up.” He leaned forward toward Draco, who blindly placed his mug down, hoping it would land on the bedside table. “I did keep you up very late last night.”

Draco lost himself in warm lips and eager hands for several long moments. “Do you really have to go?” he asked, as Harry straightened up.

“I’m afraid I do,” said Harry, looking just as regretful as Draco felt. He leaned forward again, hovering in front of Draco’s face. “I’ll owl you,” he said, before leaning in for a soft kiss.

“I’ll look forward to it,” said Draco, feeling a touch lightheaded from a lack of air.

Harry gave him a last kiss, then briskly took himself out of the room. A few moments later, Draco heard the distinct crack of Apparition and hoped none of his Muggle neighbours had been watching. He picked up his tea. No sense letting it go to waste.

Harry was as good as his word. Late on Sunday afternoon, an owl arrived bearing a letter and a small package. Draco paid the owl and offered it some owl treats before opening the letter.

_Draco,_

_I forgot to give you this last night. I enclose the Marauders Map for your investigative pleasure. Things are in a bit of a tangle here. I’m going to have to pop over to Brussels, but I should be back before next weekend. I hope you’ll have some time available; I have some more questions that require clarification._

_Yours_

Draco closed his eyes, remembering the considerable clarification he had sought last night to the question of how Harry would taste. Then he opened his eyes and steadfastly applied himself to his Sunday afternoon cleaning routine.  

Draco took the Map into work with him on Monday, on the grounds that it would give him something to do that was not pining over the absence of a Potter, which he resolutely refused to do, no matter how many times his mind insisted on giving him flashbacks to what had been, in all honesty, an extremely enjoyable night. Keeping in mind the revelations of Saturday night, he did take the time to visit Harry’s office and set his own monitoring spells on the office. Harry might be an ex-Auror, he thought smugly, but he wouldn’t have the range of surveillance spells that Magical Maintenance had at their disposal. He then preceded to throw himself into his work with enough vim and vigour (barring the odd moment of aforesaid recollection) that it wasn’t until Wednesday evening that he had a chance to study the map properly.  

It was a fascinating thing. Draco ran his standard diagnostic spells, expecting to find much the same spells as he had researched himself. Instead, he found a strange combination of spells, melded together inexpertly but with flair. After ten minutes of intense study, he found himself reassessing his stance on wizards being unable to innovate. He had filled a foot and a half of parchment of notes and was planning his own experimentation in the morning. By removing this part of the spell and tying it to the Ministry spells that track office owners, he could get their names to appear on the map. With the amount of staff movement in the Ministry, it would be a considerable advantage for the Magical Maintenance staff.

Draco glanced at the pile of transfer scrolls waiting for his attention. He wondered if he could write into the spell a way to show which offices were waiting for transfer. With the number of requests coming though, it would be easy for one to get missed, which could cause terrible problems for the new inhabitant of the off—

Draco surged to his feet and turned towards his filing cabinet. He wrenched out a drawer and rifled through the contents, once, then a second time to be sure. Feeling vindicated, he pushed the drawer closed with a bang just as he felt the telltale ping of a snapping spell. He knew who was breaking into Harry’s office and how. And, thanks to his surveillance spells, Draco also knew he was in Harry’s office right now.

Draco ran up the corridor towards Harry’s office, slowing as he got closer. Taking a deep breath to slow his racing heart, Draco triggered a certain spell, then unlocked the door with a wave of his wand and pushed it open.

“Good evening, Mr Cadwaller,” he said.

Evan Cadwaller looked up from behind Harry’s desk. For a fleeting moment, surprise and guilt was writ large upon his face before it was professionally smooth again.

“Mr Malfoy,” he replied. “What are you doing here?”

“I could ask you the same,” said Draco, leaning casually against the door frame and waiting.

“I’m holding down the fort while Harry is away,” said Cadwaller, glibly. “Harry doesn’t mind me using his office.”

“Ah, but it’s not, is it?” said Draco, genially. “It’s not _Harry’s_ office at all.”

“Of course it’s Harry’s office,” Cadwaller blustered. “It says so right there on the door. Harry told you it is his office.”

“I’m sure Harry thinks it is his office, but you and I know that’s not the case, Mr Cadwaller. Don’t we?”

Cadwaller shifted uncomfortably in Harry’s chair. “I really don’t know what you mean.”

“This was your office, and as far as the building is concerned it still is,” said Draco, walking further into the room. “I checked our records. You never transferred ownership of the office to Harry.”

“If I inadvertently overlooked some paperwork—” Cadwaller began.

“I don’t think you overlooked it at all, Evan,” interrupted Draco. “You’ve been working at the Ministry of Magic for over twenty years, barring that convenient year you spent overseas,” he added contemptuously. Cadwaller flushed. “You knew full well what would happen if you didn’t transfer the office to Harry’s name,” Draco continued. “No locking spell could keep you out of an office that recognised you as its owner. You’ve been using that loophole to sneak into this office for months. You’ve been stalking Harry all this time and no-one ever even knew.”

“I wasn’t stalking him,” Cadwaller declared hotly. “Harry needs me. I’ve been making his life easier, providing things he needs, leaving little touches to show he is welcome. He liked it.”

“He needs you,” Draco repeated slowly, shifting involuntarily as he felt another spell snap. “And you were hoping that he’d need you in another way, weren’t you? Chocolates and flowers—you were trying to court him. But he never noticed you. Not the way you wanted. So you tried something bigger, something more obvious. Sadly for you, Harry didn’t even know what it was.”

“I can teach him. Harry and I are the perfect team,” said Cadwaller. “With my contacts and experience, I can offer him opportunities you could never dream of, Malfoy. Give up and go home. I have work to do. Harry doesn’t need your kind of help anymore.”

“He needs it a bit,” said Draco. “He’ll need it to prosecute you, for a start.”

Cadwaller laughed harshly. “You can’t prosecute me, Malfoy. You have no evidence. It’s your word against mine and who is going to believe _you_.”

“Not entirely.” Draco leaned over and plucked a small, round object off Harry’s desk. “You won’t have seen one of these before. It’s a prototype some of the Magical Maintenance staff have been working on for the Security office. It’s based on a Muggle device, called a recorder. Everything you’ve just said is stored in its memory. I imagine the Aurors will be most interested in it.”

“You bastard!” Cadwaller jumped to his feet, his face reddened and suffused with rage. “Just like a Malfoy, deceitful to the core. _Stupefy_!”

“ _Protego!_ ” roared a voice from the doorway. Cadwaller stumbled backwards from the force of the spell, gaping in horror at the figure in front of him. In all fairness, Draco couldn’t blame him. Harry made an imposing figure, even without the telltale Auror robes. Draco took a moment to wonder why criminals hadn’t just turned themselves in at the first sight of him.

“ _Incarcerous_ ,” said Harry in a much milder tone pointing his wand at Cadwaller. He turned to Draco. “Are you alright?”

“Fine,” said Draco, regarding Harry’s still drawn wand with a fascinated eye as a large, spectral animal appeared out the end of it. The animal (a stag by the look of those preposterous antlers, Draco thought) disappeared through the open doorway.

“Excellent,” said Harry. “I’ll be with you in a just a moment.”

Draco doubted it but Harry was proved correct. A horde of Aurors appeared in a very short time, including Ronald Weasley, who took one look at the scene and said, “Alright, Stevens and Watson, escort the suspect to the cells. The rest of you, bugger off and finish your paperwork.” He waited until the junior members had departed before turning to Harry with a raised eyebrow.

“Really?” Weasley asked.  Harry flushed lightly and nodded. Weasley sighed. “Right, come and see me tomorrow and we’ll sort the charges out. Dinner, tomorrow. Hermione’s been asking after you.”

“Cheers, mate,” said Harry gratefully. Weasley flashed him a grin, gave Draco a jerky nod and left.

“What was all that about?” asked Draco, curiously.

Harry blushed. “Uh, Ron was asking how it was going? You know, with us.”

“You told Weasley?” asked Draco. To his surprise, Harry flushed redder.

“Ah, no,” admitted Harry. “He guessed. I’ve been talking about you a lot, apparently.”

Draco smiled. He took half a step forward. “You’ve been talking about me?”

Harry mimicked his action. “I might have been.”

Draco took another half-step forward, so that he was right in front of Harry. “And what sort of things have you been saying?”

Harry drew in a breath. “That I’ve met a man who is smart and funny, and so terrifyingly gorgeous that sometimes I just can’t stop myself from staring. Whose intellect makes me think and whose hands make me ache and whose lips—mmmph.”

“Whose lips are rapidly becoming addicted to yours,” said Draco, several moments later. He ran his hands down Harry’s robes to find his waist. “Should we take this somewhere more appropriate?” he asked, working his left hand into Harry’s pocket for greater access.

Harry shuddered and drew in a deep breath. “Good idea,” he said. “Do you need to tell your boss?”

Draco laughed. “I’m the deputy head of Magical Maintenance and it’s,” he checked his watch, which was fortunately on his right hand, “seven thirty on a Wednesday night. There’s no boss to ask.”

Harry stared at him. “You’re deputy head of your department?” he asked incredulously.

Draco ceased his importunings briefly. “Of course I am,” he said. “I’ve been deputy head for two years now.”

Harry gaped at him blankly for a moment. “How did I not know this?” he asked rhetorically. He stared at Draco a moment longer. “I thought you were the cleaner,” he admitted.

Draco thought for a moment. “Is that why you insisted on paying for dinner?” At Harry’s sheepish nod, Draco burst out laughing. “Harry, this is a ten storey building, buried completely underground, in which thousands of people work and which has been in existence for over four hundred years. It is held together entirely by magic and Magical Maintenance is the only thing that keeps it in one piece. I probably earn more money than you do!”

Harry’s face was a picture. “Well, that was unexpected. I feel like a prize idiot,” he admitted.

Draco drew him closer again, infiltrating his hand back into Harry’s pocket. “I’ve found that sometimes the unexpected can be good.”  He ran his hand along Harry’s hip. Harry shuddered again, his hips jerking forward a fraction. “Shall we go back to my flat?” Draco asked. “You could ask me some more questions and I could ... clarify.”

Harry’s pupils were slightly dilated. “Sounds good,” he said, a trifle breathless.

It was.

The End

  

**Author's Note:**

> I'm delighted to say that the British Cheese Board is a real thing. You should all visit the website, if only to read the winner of the cheese on toast poetry competition.
> 
> Thanks for reading! All comments are extremely welcome either here or [on Livejournal](http://hd-fan-fair.livejournal.com/90727.html).


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